


My New, Younger, Boss Is My Alpha

by DaydreamDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Castiel, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Kinda, M/M, Miscommunication, Office Party, Omega Castiel, Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Rimming, Scenting, Top Dean Winchester, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel
Summary: Castiel Novak's worked hard for this promotion. He's always on time, he's committed, he puts in longer hours than the alphas in his office and he just landed the Crowley contract. He deserves it.That promotion Castiel's gunning for? He doesn't get. No, what he gets is a new, younger alpha walking on eggshells around him in charge of his division. Like he needed that.Spnabobingo square filled: Destiel





	My New, Younger, Boss Is My Alpha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RooBear68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBear68/gifts).



> This fic was happily written for [Roo's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooBear68) birthday. I hope you have an amazing day, you know I love you, your artboards and your prompts. Xoxo
> 
> It's after midnight here, so it's technically your birthday and I want this to be waiting for you when you wake up. <3
> 
> Art is Roo's too.

Bitter, thick, sludge. That’s what Castiel’s coffee tastes like this morning. It’s disgusting, but he didn’t have time to stop and get a decent one, and God help him—he _needs_ the caffeine. His mood matches his coffee by the time he makes it into Sandover Advertising with just a minute to spare.

Walking from the elevators into his office eats up that extra minute and he’s barely settled into his seat at his desk when Mr. Adler walks in. The overpowering smell of alpha and acrid smugness that permeates the air around him always sets Castiel on edge.

It’s lucky that Castiel has worked damn hard on learning to mitigate his responses to scent, because he manages to keep his own from souring. It never means anything good when Mr. Adler shows up first thing, and he greatly doubts that this time will be an exception to that rule.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Mr. Adler says, a smile stretching across his smarmy face, and Castiel greets him in return with a smile that he knows appears genuine. Castiel knows how to play this game well enough. “So, I know you were hoping for news today about the promotion to division head….”

Castiel perks up at that. After nailing the Crowley pitch last week, he’d been told he was a shoe in. Hope wells up in his chest, he’s worked so hard for this. He’s put his life outside of work on hold for years—no dating, barely any friendships, vacations spent working anyway—all of it to prove that despite the fact that he’d presented as an omega, he was better qualified than so many alphas for advancement. He _deserves_ this promotion.

“Did you hear…?” Castiel can’t help but ask, and he knows he sounds eager.

The malicious glee in Mr. Adler’s eyes while he forces his face into a falsely sympathetic smile dashes any hope Castiel had, fury seethes in his stomach, and still Castiel manages to keep his scent and expression neutral.

“Unfortunately the decision came down to you or an alpha the big wigs have been scouting, trying to poach for a while now, and Dean finally accepted their offer. I’m sure you’ll have another chance, Castiel.”

He stands there expectantly, probably waiting to see if Castiel will fall apart, but as if Castiel would ever give him the satisfaction. “Of course,” Castiel replies evenly.

After lingering a moment longer, irritation flares in Mr. Adler’s scent before he offers Castiel a tight-lipped smile. “I suppose I’ll let you get to work, then.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you.”

It isn’t until Mr. Adler’s out of sight that Castiel finally lets a scowl curl his lips down, he keeps a tight lid on his scent, still unwilling to let anyone know just how much this bothers him. The last thing he needs is for people to start talking about how _emotional_ he is.

When alphas get angry it’s natural, competitiveness, an edge. When an omega gets angry, they’re unbalanced, can’t control their feelings. Fucking frustrating is what that whole line of thinking is, but Castiel can’t change the way people think. All he can do is try to prove them wrong.

\---

Dean sighs and tilts his head one way then the other in an effort to relieve the tension already gathered in his shoulders and neck. The parking garage where he’s been given a spot up front is dim, and he takes a moment to close his eyes and center himself.

Change isn’t Dean’s strong suit, but there was really only so long he could suck up to Dick Roman and keep a hold on his dignity. So when Sandover had finally sent him an offer that was worth it, he’d quickly taken the opportunity to get outta dodge.

He sniffs himself carefully to check for any trace of his alpha scent clinging to him. He doesn’t find any thanks to the blocker he’d put on before leaving the house, but just in case he spritzes on a bit of neutralizer and then follows it up with a couple light dabs of cologne before stuffing both bottles into his brown leather messenger bag.

Dean’s always done his best to make sure he never uses his alpha for undue advantage, especially at work. His parents had raised him to know wrong from right, and as far as he’s concerned, allowing his scent to influence his co-workers is taking advantage. There aren’t many alphas who share that opinion, but Dean doesn’t give a crap what they think. His own conscience is clear, and he’s smart enough to pull his own weight without needing to rely on posturing.

Enough dawdling, he decides, time to get in there and do what he does best. Dean slips out of his Impala, shuts and locks the door, then smooths a hand over his red tie and pinstripe blue shirt, white cuffs standing out sharply at his wrists. He looks good. Yeah, he’s got this.

The elevator takes him to the main floor of the building, and like he’d been told, Mr. Adler’s there to greet him, and show him to his new desk. He gets the nickel tour and by the end of it Dean’s already sure he’s not gonna like Mr. Adler. The guy’s a dick. Uses his status and his scent to demean anyone he thinks is lower in the pecking order than him.

Dean can’t wait for the handoff—when Mr. Adler’s gonna introduce him to the guy who’s gonna get him up to speed. Castiel, he’s been told, will be able to go over the current pitches they’re working on.

Though Dean doesn’t like the vicious smarmy smell Mr. Adler gives off when he’s informing him about the guy and makes sure to add that he’s an omega. Like that matters to Dean at all. Long as this Castiel knows what he’s doing—and he’s gotta to’ve made it this far—then, Dean could give less of a shit what his secondary gender is.

“So, this is your new office,” Mr. Adler opens the door and leads Dean over to a large dark cherry wood desk. The room is big, fancy. There’s a comfortable looking grey leather couch alongside one side wall, and a state of the art kitchenette area along the other. Nice.

Dean drops his messenger bag on the desk and looks around, already planning out the things he’ll add to make it feel less clinical and more him. The photo his mom’d taken of him, Sam, and their dad at Sam’s graduation. One of Sam and his mate, Jess, at the official celebration of their mating, both dressed up and grinning adorably, sporting matching bite marks on their necks.

Oh, and the calendar he’d made up of artistic shots of Baby. Yeah, okay, he’d made a calendar of photos of his car, he’s that kinda guy, whatever.

“It’s nice,” Dean says of the office, turning back to face Mr. Adler.

“Glad you like it. Why don’t you get settled and I’ll go send Castiel in. I’m sure the two of you can handle things.”

Dean forces himself to smile instead of narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Mr. Adler’s tone and scent. “Sounds good.”

He sits down at the desk and literally does jack shit while he waits. It’s not like he’s got anything to unpack yet. Hell, his bag is mostly for show today. ‘Cept for the piece of pie in a container he’s got stashed in there. That's essential. Made by his dad and Dean's favorite kind. His mom always makes sure he gets a piece to take to his first day at a new job.

For a second, he actually thinks he can smell it through the ziploc container, but then a knock at his door startles him out of it.

Awkwardly, mouth salivating, Dean swallows and clears his throat before he says, “Hey, c’mon in.”

And oh boy, oh fuck, does he ever regret that a second later when he’s getting a lungful of toasted pecans, vanilla, caramel and the slightest hint of buttery pie crust. How the fuck can a person even _smell_ that good? Like their scent was tailor made to appeal to Dean? He blinks his eyes, trying to push away the sudden swell of alpha instincts that he’s sure are starting to make them brighter green.

And that’s all before he even takes in the sight in front of him. Castiel, he assumes, is fucking _gorgeous._ Dark wild hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and a slight frown on his wide pink lips that Dean wants desperately to kiss away. Stubble for goddamn days and a toned body that’s obvious even under the black suit and grey button down he’s wearing.

Shit. Dean needs to get himself under control. This reaction is totally unacceptable. Doesn’t matter how hot the guy is, how good he smells, Dean cannot launch himself across the desk right now. He’s Castiel’s _boss,_ for one. And even if there’s something in the back of Dean’s brain pinging wildly with stories about true mates, he’s wearing blockers, he tells himself.

To Castiel, he’d just be some random guy coming at him.

“Mr. Winchester?” Castiel asks, one eyebrow raised, face impassive.

Right, fuck. Focus. Dean clears his throat and offers a smile. “Dean.”

“Okay,” Castiel says stiffly, head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to figure out what to make of Dean. His nostrils flare slightly as he scents the air. And yeah, thank fuck Dean sprayed himself before he got out of his car. “I’m Castiel.”

“Right, sorry,” Dean chuckles and tells himself he doesn’t sound strained. Just focus on work, Dean. Just make it through this conversation. “Mr. Adler said he was sending you in. Why don’t you pull up a chair and we’ll get started.”

\---

Two months of Mr. Winchester, _Dean,_ as his boss has been enough for an entire lifetime as far as Castiel is concerned. It’s not that he’s outright rude to Castiel, actually the opposite is sort of true. Castiel is having the hardest time reigning in his sarcasm and irritation with Dean, and it’s easy to see he’s not keeping his scent under control that well either whenever Dean reacts to his annoyance with little flinches.

Dean’s just—he’s too … _nice._ It’s like he thinks Castiel can’t handle alphas or something. As if Castiel isn’t used to aggression and biting remarks and competition. The guy even wears _blockers_ to work, and in their field, that’s incredibly abnormal for an alpha.

Sure, Dean’d done it on the first day, but Castiel’d assumed that he was just covering up nerves or something about making such a big career move. Not that Castiel gives a damn about Dean’s scent. He doesn’t. He hasn't imagined what he might smell like either. He just hates being treated with kid gloves. Or worse, being _mothered._

Dean keeps asking if he can get Castiel anything when he orders lunch or sends Alfie on a coffee run, and it’s getting on Castiel’s last nerve. Dean’s quite clearly _younger_ than him, and that alone would be enough to annoy Castiel, but the fact that he's younger _and_ an alpha? It's degrading.

“I’m fine,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time. Then he adds in an icy tone, “Stop asking.”

Dean lets out a huff and holds his hands up defensively, “Just being nice, jeez. Since when’s that a crime?”

Anger swirls in Castiel’s belly, and his eyes narrow even further at Dean, “I don’t need you to make sure I eat. I’m an adult and I took care of myself for thirty years before you stepped foot in this building. Just because I’m an omega doesn’t mean I need you to care for me. Is that too hard for you to grasp, Mr. Winchester?”

There’s definitely no way he should be talking to his boss like that, and alpha or not, anyone would lose their temper over the tone in Castiel’s voice, but Dean just rolls his eyes and backs up a step mumbling, “Whatever.”

Dean retreats to his own office, and Castiel’s anger kicks up another notch over the fact that Dean wouldn’t even argue with him when he was being rude. Why is Dean so good at getting under his skin? Castiel can’t help that he feels so antagonistic toward Dean, it’s probably a natural part of losing out on the promotion to him, all because Castiel’s not an alpha. Dean’s inability to treat Castiel as he’d treat anyone else on the team is just making his dislike of him worse.

What truly makes the whole thing unbearable is the fact that Dean Winchester just happens to be the most attractive man that Castiel’s ever met. What kind of cruel, capricious god would make one of the most insufferably stubborn, annoying, jerks in the entire world that beautiful?

Castiel seethes while he eats his too dry PB&J and most definitely does _not_ think anything else about Dean that’s complimentary.

\---

Monday morning is a time that Dean both dreads and loves.

He loves that first slow drag in of Castiel's scent after a weekend spent practically in withdrawal from it. He loves getting to see Castiel refreshed and bright-eyed and clean shaven.

He dreads the moment Castiel notices him and his expression shutters, his eyes narrow a bit.

Lately, he’s leaning much further toward dread on the spectrum. It's getting harder and harder to handle the way that Castiel clearly doesn't like him.

Dean’s not sure exactly what it is about him that pisses Castiel off, just that no matter what he does, no matter which details he alters in their interactions, he always ends up smelling angry omega.

Six months. He’s been trying to figure out how in the hell he’d gotten himself into this situation for six damn months. Every time he smells Castiel he forgets to be pissed off in return, and instead has to fight off every single alpha mating/caring instinct he has, ‘cause there’s no way Castiel wants that with him. Castiel _hates_ him.

Which really sucks, ‘cause when Castiel _isn’t_ actively being a dick to him, Dean gets glimpses of his personality that he really likes. Castiel’s smart, witty, his work ethic is crazy awesome. If he wasn’t so dead set on disliking Dean, they’d probably get along. That’s the really shitty part of all of it.

At first, Dean’d thought about telling Castiel exactly why he couldn’t stop offering him meals and coffee, why he was bending over backwards to get Castiel to drop the prickly pear routine, but the more time they’d spent together the more apparent it became that Castiel just really hates his guts.

And there’s a lot of things Dean can take, alright? He’s a pretty tough guy … but having his true mate reject him for reasons Dean can’t figure out? Fucking stings.

The one thing Dean’s not willing to do is knock off the scent blockers at work, because that’d be all kinds of wrong. Castiel’s made his position on Dean clear and Dean’s not gonna try and alter it with biology. He just … he’s at a loss here. He can’t stop thinking about Castiel, can’t stop wanting him.

Dean’s self-esteem’s taken a pretty nasty beating for the last few months. He’s just about at the end of his rope. He wants to be wanted. And that’s not gonna happen with Castiel.

So when Sandover tells Dean that they’re gonna throw a big birthday bash at a fancy hotel bar for him, Dean decides it’s his chance to relax a little. There’s no way that Castiel’s gonna go to his birthday.

So instead of putting on blockers and going through the usual nine yards of making himself smell like nothing more than TOM FORD Oud Wood that night, Dean just showers and doesn’t bother with the extra steps. It’s outside of work hours, and besides, after he puts in the minimum effort at the party, he’ll slip away and find a nearby bar. _Someone_ there’s bound to want him.

Stubbornly, he ignores the pang of _wrong_ that lances his gut. He _needs_ this.

After staring into his closet for a while, Dean picks out a fitted dark grey suit paired with a crisp white shirt, a lighter grey tie and matching pocket square. He dresses and styles his hair, and then he grabs his wallet and keys on his way out the door.

\---

Castiel fiddles with his tie as he sits in the back of the cab and makes stilted small talk with the beta driving the car. He’s working hard to control the pissed off feeling that curls in his stomach. It’s Friday night. He should be in his pj’s with a delivery pizza and cheesecake on his coffee-table while he binges whatever action/adventure show catches his attention.

Instead, he has to attend Dean’s stupid birthday party. Mr. Adler had made it perfectly clear that the invitation wasn’t so much an invitation as it was a directive. Which is how Castiel ended up in a blue suit missing his worn in grey sweatpants.

The cab pulls up to the hotel where the party’s being held at and Castiel sighs after he pays the cabbie and gets out. He’s already pushing the acceptable limits of late, but he hadn’t wanted to be early. It’s already bound to be awkward enough.

A doorman in the lobby points him toward the bar, and Castiel smothers another sigh as he heads in the correct direction. Soon he finds himself in an elegantly designed bar full of people, only he doesn't notice a single one of them.

The moment he's inside one scent rises strongly above all the others—old books pages and leather binding—a sensation exactly reminiscent of the sunlight warming his skin in the window seat of his father's library envelops him and pulls him forward. It's comfort and safety, and Castiel recognizes what's happening instantly.

He's read about this, but he never believed—true mates scenting each other and knowing instantly—it’s indescribable and this feels like so much more than that paltry description. His body moves on autopilot, instinct guiding him forward through the crowd and when he squeezes past the last person blocking his view, his eyes widen in shock.

Preternaturally bright green eyes are focused intently on him. Dean's flushed cheeks and parted lips show his surprise, and all of Castiel's thoughts clamor for attention at once, but he can't focus on _any_ of them because Dean is his _true mate,_ and every bit of Dean's behavior for the last several months clicks into place—all of the fussing, the trying too hard.

Castiel’s throat goes dry and he takes a single step back when all he wants to do is walk straight forward into Dean’s arms. Desire is thrumming under his skin like strings strung too tightly, and he’s only got so much control left in him. Dean’s eyes are locked on his, and he’s hanging on by a thread too, the tension in his body clearly visible.

The thing is … the thing is … they need to get out of here, because Castiel’s not gonna flush his entire career down the toilet by making a scene right now, no matter how much he wants Dean. The problem with that is that if Castiel runs, Dean’s instincts are definitely going to take over, he can see Dean fighting for tenuous restraint—and running is a sure way to snap it.

Castiel’s omega is goading him too, tugging at his gut, and making his heart race way too fast in his chest, bouncing off his ribcage and daring him to take off, knowing Dean will pursue, _wanting_ Dean to catch him. He _needs_ to stay rational. So he takes slow steps backward that Dean seems powerless to do anything but mimic, following after him.

That the whole room isn’t watching them right now is a stroke of luck, but Castiel is all too aware of the few eyes that _are_ on them. The people Dean had been talking with are watching them curiously. Sweat beads up at Castiel’s temples, and Dean’s eyes darken a little, enough that Castiel swallows harshly.

He’s steps from the entrance and it’s so fucking hard not to take off. Four more glacial steps and then he’s out the door. There’s a low growl when the door swings shut, but Castiel’s already running, feet pounding down onto the marble floors, pushing him forward. Excitement, arousal and a little streak of fear rush through his veins in time with the frantic beating of his heart.

Just shy of the elevator banks, Dean catches him, strong arms spin Castiel around and pin him up against the wall. And fuck, Dean smells so damn good, looks even better, and Castiel is tired of fighting this attraction he’s been harboring. “Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean blinks, gaze clearing momentarily before it goes hazy again. Then he’s got his nose pressed to the side of Castiel’s neck, just under his jaw inhaling deep pulls of his scent from the source. A low groan rumbles in Dean’s chest, his voice rough and needy when he speaks, “God, you smell so good. Got no idea how damn long I wanted to do this.”

Castiel’s fingers curl in Dean’s hair as he arches against Dean, keeping him in place while he searches desperately for more body contact that Dean withholds. “You knew,” Castiel accuses, and how he’s coherent enough to discuss anything is a mystery even to him.

A bell dings, and the next thing Castiel knows, he’s pushing Dean into the empty elevator and shoving him against the side wall, pressing his whole body against Dean’s. “Tell me you have a room.”

“Top floor,” Dean pants, “complimentary gift.” Then, like he’s struggling to maintain some form of composure with Castiel now scenting him—and God, Dean smells impossibly better up close like this, he smells like daydreams and escape and _home—_ Dean grits out, “We don’t have to—you don’t … Cas, if you don’t wanna do this, I’ll stop.”

Curiously, Castiel tips back his head, and looks up into Dean’s vibrantly green eyes. “Could you?”

Dean grits his teeth, jaw muscles clenching, but he nods. “Not sayin’ it wouldn’t be hard, but uh … I’ve been holdin’ back for months. I don’t want to—you _hate_ me. I’m not gonna make you,” Dean trails off, eyes cutting to the floor.

Castiel chews his bottom lip, considering. Does he hate Dean? He dislikes the way Dean’s been acting toward him, but it makes a stupid sort of sense given what Dean’s been keeping secret. Concentrating beyond the burning need in his blood, beyond his omega whining and begging for Dean’s alpha is incredibly difficult, but Castiel has plenty of practice reigning in his body.“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean’s cheeks flush dark, and his head falls back against the wall, green eyes focusing on the ceiling. “I’m your boss. I’m,” Dean shrugs, “me, and you didn’t seem to like me much. What was I supposed to say? If I’d known you were coming, I’d be wearing blockers right now too. I never wanted to put you in this position.”

Dean’s fingers are clenched around the handle that runs along the elevator wall, white knuckled with clear effort not to touch Castiel. “We can talk about it after,” Castiel decides, and he hits the button for what he hopes is the top floor without looking.

“After?” Dean asks, voice shaky.

Castiel noses along Dean’s jaw, then leans up until his lips brush against Dean’s ear. “After you fuck me exactly the way I tell you to.”

Dean shivers, breath hitching in his throat and turning into a soft growl. “Gonna tell me how you like it?”

Pulling back as the elevator pings and the doors woosh open, Castiel smirks, challenge in his eyes and his voice, “Gonna follow my instructions?”

The heat in Dean’s eyes as Castiel backs out of the elevator scorches him. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

\---

Dean's heart flutters fast in his chest, his senses consumed with the sweet toasted pecan scent and caramel taste of Castiel, the feeling of Castiel's hands in his hair, running over his neck, his shoulders.

Castiel's got him shoved up against Dean's closed door, a thick, solid thigh wedged between Dean's legs and pressing hot against Dean's hard cock while he sucks at Dean's lips and dips his tongue past them. And fuck, it feels so damn good to finally get to have this, that Dean forgets his reservations and surrenders to the demand in Castiel's kisses, in his touch.

Part of him wants to pick Castiel up and carry him to the bed, lay him out and fuck him hard, until Castiel forgets everything other than Dean's name. The larger part, though, fucking loves that Castiel’s taking what he wants. That he's taking the lead and daring Dean to follow.

Nimble fingers undo Dean's tie and leave it dangling before starting on the buttons of his shirt. Dean's hands lift from their grip on Castiel's waist and push his own blazer off, leaving it trapped against the door at the small of his back.

His shirt parts, and Castiel leans away to look down the length of him, hands smoothing along the bare, toned skin of Dean's stomach and chest. Need claws at Dean's gut, and he just wants Castiel to keep touching him, to never stop.

“Please,” he pants, head dropping back to rest against the door, neck bared in a submission so complete that Castiel audibly gasps.

Dean doesn't have time to feel self conscious before Castiel's mouth latches onto his throat, sucking and scraping sharp canines over sensitive skin, making all kind of images dance through Dean's head. Permanent ones. “Oh God, oh fuck.”

It takes Dean's brain a second to catch up with the sudden lack of sensation, and his eyes open to find Castiel staring at him with intense otherworldly blue eyes, smelling like a fucking wet dream—all omega arousal and honeyed-slick. Lust clenches hot in Dean's belly and a growl he can't help rumbles in his chest.

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him and smirks, moving back another step. The same move he'd pulled in the bar, and Dean's alpha instincts instantly perk up and take notice.

“Take off your shoes, socks, pants, underwear,” Castiel's smirk turns darker. “Leave your shirt and tie,” he wets his lips and Dean tracks the motion helplessly. “Then lay yourself out on the bed. Show me you can wait for me and I'll make it worth your while, alpha.”

Dean's upper lip curls involuntarily, showing off his sharp white teeth in a primal display. After a second of intense staring into Castiel's eyes, Dean forces away his inborn need to be in control, and complies with Castiel's command.

On the bed, Dean reclines with his elbows propping up his upper body, watching what Castiel's doing intently. Gaze locked on Dean's, Castiel strips down to nothing. He stands there, tanned skin flushed, thick cock jutting out in front of him, dark pink and wet tipped.

The combination of overpowering scent and sight makes Dean's mouth water with the need to taste. Castiel just waits for a few moments, one hand coming up to stroke his own cock while he watches Dean's reaction, blue eyes dropping to the heavy twitch of Dean's swelling knot and he'd be embarrassed by how fast he's getting there, but Castiel doesn't look put off, he looks downright predatory.

Whatever Castiel's waiting for must happen, 'cause he stalks forward and climbs onto the bed between Dean's parted legs. Fuck, he's so beautiful, skin glittering with sweat, and cheeks blushing with his arousal. Dean's muscles tense as he holds himself still, body wanting to pin Castiel down so damn _badly._

For a moment, Castiel hovers over Dean, so close but not touching, and it's torture not to push up and complete the circuit, not to feel Castiel's skin hot against his, but Dean _can_ do this, damnit. It's what Cas wants, what he deserves.

“You're being so good for me, Dean,” Castiel whispers close enough to Dean's lips that he feels the damp puffs of Castiel's breath against them.

Dean's so hard that he's aching, leaking precome in a steady drip, and still those words make his dick fill out just a little more. He lets out a breathless whimper, clamping down on the need to flex his hips.

“Good boy,” Castiel murmurs, finally, finally closing the distance and owning Dean's mouth in a kiss that jolts lust through Dean's body.

“Please,” Dean begs, hands clenching in the sheets at his sides while Castiel trails wet, biting kisses along his jaw, down his neck. All Dean can focus on his the pleasure coursing through him, the sweet smell of Castiel’s slick making him dizzy with longing. “Wanna taste you so bad. Fuck, smell so good, Cas.”

“Yeah?” Castiel murmurs, right before his tongue traces around Dean’s pebbled nipple, a spike of heat making Dean gasp.

Castiel doesn’t make him wait, thank fuck, ‘cause Dean doesn’t know if he could. He moves so that he’s straddling Dean's chest backwards, then leans down until his ass is lifted up right in Dean’s face. And Dean is patient, okay? So patient, but he’s going crazy staring at shiny slick dripping down Castiel’s thighs, smelling it up close and waiting to be told he can taste.

“Eat me out, Dean,” Castiel tells him, smug note in his voice. Of course that fucker knows what he’s doing to Dean, and the scent of turned on alpha that’s flooding the room only proves without words just how much Dean secretly (or not so secretly) loves it.

“Fuck, yes.” Without hesitation, Dean gets his hands on the firm rounded muscles of Castiel’s ass, fingers digging in as he spreads him wide and gets a good look at his soaking wet hole, and fuck if Castiel isn’t pretty all over. Pink and glistening and Dean dives right in, tongue tracing around the wrinkled skin there, lapping up slick and moaning into Castiel.

Distantly, he’s aware that Castiel’s fisting his cock, rubbing his knot while he kitten licks around the head, but most of Dean’s concentration is taken up with how damn delicious Castiel tastes, on making Castiel feel good. Subtly, Castiel starts rocking back against Dean's mouth, and a satisfied growl erupts from Dean's chest as he pushes his tongue in as deep as he can. Swirling it inside and withdrawing again just to do it all over and over.

The breathy sexy sounds Castiel’s making spark along Dean’s skin like firecrackers, make him almost as needy as the slick flooding his mouth. He wants to be inside of Castiel so fucking bad, and he’ll do whatever Castiel wants to get there.

“Use your fingers,” Castiel grunts before he swallows Dean’s dick, and oh fucking hell.

Dean’s head drops back to the pillow and he watches as two of his fingers sink into Castiel, the skin stretching tight around him, clinging as he plunges them in and out. Twisting, curling until.…

“Ah,” Castiel pants, back arching on a moan, “right there. Fuck, right there.”

So Dean does it again, rubs more firmly over the spot he's found and listens to Castiel’s breathing tremble, watches the stuttering of his hips like he can’t decide whether to push into it or pull away from how good it feels.

There’s nothing that gets Dean off more than figuring out what makes his partner lose it and giving it to them. It’s a special kind of pride that sears hot in his gut and heats him up, and there’s something even better about doing it for Castiel.

Suddenly, Castiel pulls away, and Dean’s confused for all of a moment before Castiel lays down beside him, and pulls Dean on top of him, kisses him deep and hard—possessive.

Rock salt rough and shivering down Dean’s spine, Castiel says, “Fuck me.”

And Dean wants, okay, so badly, but he’s also not a complete moron. “Fuck. Yeah, just … uh, lemme grab a condom.”

Thank fuck he’d planned to get laid tonight. He finds one in the inside pocket of his discarded suit jacket by the door and wastes no time getting it open and on before he gets back up on the bed and crawls up Castiel’s body.

Sliding into Castiel is easy, hot, snug, and Dean damn near comes the second he’s inside of him. He keeps himself still, eyes closed in ecstacy and it’s not until Castiel grabs onto the tail ends of Dean’s tie and pulls him in for a kiss that Dean starts to move. Slow deep grinding rolls of his hips while he sucks on Castiel’s bottom lip, scores it with his teeth, and then licks into his mouth ‘cause he can’t get over how good Castiel tastes, how damn good he feels.

Castiel’s hands card through his hair, and Dean shifts back to look into his eyes up close. Blue so bright and hazy with pleasure, with wonder, and there’s something deeper there that Dean doesn’t let himself hope for, though he knows it’s reflecting right back in his own gaze.

“God, Castiel,” Dean moans, hips picking up speed and force. He’s holding on by a tiny tether, trying desperately not to let his knot swell just yet, but it’s so damn hard with Castiel tight around him, grunting and letting out these wrecked little gasps with every thrust.

Right as he’s losing the battle with his willpower, Castiel stills him with an iron grip on his hips. “Get up on your knees,” Castiel instructs, and Dean does it even though his body fights him the whole way, frantic to stay buried inside of all that heat and wet. “Not ready to finish yet.”

Dean nods in understanding, brows drawn together in concentration as he holds himself back. Then Castiel kneels in front of him and pushes the shirt off of Dean’s shoulders, undoing the cuffs when they get stuck and tossing it off the bed. His gaze roams over Dean’s bared arms and shoulders, and Castiel bites his bottom lip as he smooths his fingers over the same path.

Flashing him a little smile, Castiel turns around, resting his calves on either side of Dean’s knees as he drops down onto his elbows with his ass up like a request. Dean’s brain short circuits—Castiel is _presenting_ for him. Fuck.

“Knot me,” Castiel says, calm as anything, like he didn’t just say the best damn words Dean’s ever heard in his entire life. Like Dean doesn’t suddenly have to struggle with keeping himself from blowing way too soon.

He grips Castiel’s hips with one hand, and guides his cock into him with the other, and then he gets both hands on Castiel’s hips, slamming into him hard and fast and brutal. Animalistic. Nothing exists outside of fucking Castiel, outside of knotting him. He sees Castiel’s arm working, and Dean just knows that he’s jerking off. So fucking hot.

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” Dean pants, leaning forward to kiss and bite at Castiel’s shoulder, loving the way Castiel trembles beneath him, making his way up until his lips are right next to Castiel’s ear. “Gonna come on my knot, Cas? ‘Cause fuck, I can’t wait to feel you squeeze around me. Scream my name.”

“Yeah,” Castiel breathes, shudders shaking through him, “better not come until I do, Dean.”

A high whine pushes out of Dean’s chest at Castiel’s words, and he rears up onto his knees again to stare at his cock shoving in and out of Castiel, knot swelling and spreading him so wide. Castiel doesn’t just take it, he _loves it._ He fucks himself back onto Dean’s knot, his ass slapping into Dean’s pelvis, jiggling with each impact, moans torn from his throat like he doesn’t wanna give them up.

They’re both slippery with sweat, and Dean rubs his hand over the dip in Castiel’s spine, up the back of his neck, and fuck his he ever praying this trick works because his knot’s fit to burst and he can’t hold off much longer. Heat in his gut like pressurized magma, he squeezes his hand at the base of Castiel’s skull.

Time freezes, or Castiel does, and isn’t that the same thing? His whole body locks up and he shouts Dean’s name, clamping down around Dean’s knot as he comes. Pleasure explodes out through Dean’s body in a shuddering fiery release. His eyes slam shut, knot locked inside of Castiel and pulsing into the condom. He shakes through it, fingers dug into Castiel’s hip, and still curled around his neck. Wave after wave hits him until he’s shivering and exhausted, lax and warm.

Somehow he pulls together enough brain cells to get them on their sides, the messy blanket out from beneath them, and the clean sheet under it pulled up over their bodies before he passes out, still buried inside of Castiel, one arm curled around his waist and his nose in Castiel’s hair.

\---

It’s not the sunshine that wakes Castiel in the morning. It’s not some romantic light warming his face. It’s Dean’s half-choked snore. Castiel chuckles silently as Dean’s breathing beneath his ear resumes its quiet rumble, chest rising and falling evenly.

He’s glad he woke first. It’ll give him time to think. Last night had been … incredible for lack of a better word. He’s never had a partner surrender control to him so completely, and it’d been intoxicating. His body heats at the memory of Dean lying there, hands fisted in the sheets, freckled skin bare, gorgeous, the only thing holding him back Castiel’s command.

Dean’s … different than Castiel had expected him to be. Better.

Now that he understands Dean’s motivations, he finds he doesn’t dislike the way Dean’s been acting. After all, he’d tried so hard to keep himself from unfairly influencing Castiel with his scent, and meanwhile he’d been fighting off his own response to Castiel’s.

Speaking of scents, Castiel takes a deep breath and melts into Dean a little more. Books and leather, and sunshine warmth blend perfectly with his own sweet scent. It’s like a bookstore with a bakery in it. The thought turns Castiel’s lips up in an uncharacteristically soft smile. He hopes he’ll get to smell it a lot more often.

The way Dean had kept everything to himself is still a problem. He needs to understand that Castiel had a right to know. That he can’t keep important things like that to himself in the future. Castiel is his equal, and he knows after last night, Dean _does_ see him as one. Perhaps Dean’s own insecurities got in the way as well, and if that’s the case, then Castiel will do everything he can to erase those insecurities.

It’s just after he thinks so, that Dean stretches and lets out a quiet yawn. Castiel tips his head back, chin resting on Dean’s chest and meets nervous, unsure green eyes. Dean catches his bottom lip between his teeth, and Castiel’s gaze darts down before it flits back up. Dean looks like he’s preparing himself for rejection. Castiel’s heart aches a little. This he can fix.

He leans up and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips, offering him a smile that Dean returns.

“Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, Dean,” Castiel tells him gently, voice scratchy. “We can make this work.”

Dean’s smile is like the sun bursting over the horizon in the morning, warm and full of so much hope, and Castiel thinks that their relationship will be like that too—full of hope and blooming even brighter, more beautifully, for each period of darkness.


End file.
